


Anytime

by days_of_storm



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Epilogue, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Married Couple, Motorsports au, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, So Married, red lights out 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_storm/pseuds/days_of_storm
Summary: This is a sort of post-epilogue chapter for Red Lights Out. So, basically, chapter 103.





	Anytime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyRedCrest (your_icequeen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_icequeen/gifts).



> This is a birthday ficlet for C, who has been asking (repeatedly) for more chapters of RLO. And, well, in good old fandom tradition, I am gifting her some fluffy porn :) Happy birthday, darling! xxx

John wiped the sweat from his face and threw his gloves into the corner of the garage. Sherlock looked unimpressed behind the computer, cocking his head when the gloves flattened against the wall and dropped onto the floor and right on top of John’s bag. 

“Tell me,” John demanded and Sherlock’s eyebrows rose, just a fraction. 

“You lost a lot of time in sector two,” he said quietly. 

“I know I did. What’s the time, though?”

“1:53:430.”

John swallowed hard. “That’s not bad.”

“No,” Sherlock shrugged and John could hear the unspoken _but it’s not good either_. He did appreciate that Sherlock didn’t say it out loud. 

“I can’t go again today.”

“Remember that you are just testing?”

John unzipped his suit and pulled it down to his hips, getting rid of the fire-proof shirt underneath as well, which met the same fate as his gloves. Sherlock appeared slightly less unimpressed.

With a smirk, John made his way towards Sherlock, but instead of stopping by the desk, he walked on to pick up a towel and a bottle of water, drinking deeply. He could feel Sherlock’s anticipation prickling like a breeze against the back of his neck, and who was he to disappoint him. 

He inhaled deeply before he raised his chin and emptied the rest of the bottle over his face and chest. Then he turned around while rubbing his face dry, giving Sherlock all the time he could have asked for to look at him. 

For a moment he wondered whether he was kidding himself. Sherlock had been incredibly fit when he had pulled the stunt on him and John still hadn’t forgotten how he had looked, water running down his chest, and abs and flat stomach. He had gotten fit during the winter, training with Sherlock – and Jenson, when he was in town – but he was nowhere near as fit as Sherlock. Yet, when he lowered the towel to dry the rest of him, he saw that his stunt had had the intended effect. 

Sherlock stared at him, unabashed, wide eyed, and definitely aroused. When John smiled at him, Sherlock’s cheeks reddened and he looked away. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“I’m so glad you did, though,” John grinned and walked over to kiss Sherlock’s hair and then a stubble-rough cheek. “I’m sure I would have fallen in love with you anyway, but boy, it did give me a lot of fodder for those times you were away recently.”

“But, we have the videos. The photos.”

John laughed. “Well, it left an impression.”

“We’ve had such incredible sex and that’s what you jerk off to?”

John laughed even harder. “It just goes to show that you have no idea what you did to me that day.”

“Well,” Sherlock rearranged himself in his trousers, “I’m starting to.”

“Gentlemen,” Lestrade walked into the box, looking like he wished he could turn back time and not be privy to their conversation, “you have another thirty before it’s Lando’s turn.”

“Thanks, Greg,” John dried his hair. “I’m done for today.”

“Right, umm. Good. Good work, John.”

“Sherlock likes to differ,” he said archly and cocked his hip, planting his hand on it and giving Sherlock the most judgmental look he could muster. 

“I’m just …”

“You know the secret to a long and happy marriage?”

Sherlock’s face lit up and Lestrade’s fell instantaneously. John pretended that his giggle fit was a sudden overwhelming cough and hid his face in the towel. 

“Right,” Lestrade finally said, shaking his head at the two. “Clean up, and do something useful.”

Sherlock closed his laptop and walked over to John’s bag, pulling a t-shirt out. “Put this on, please.”

“Come with me,” John said instead.

“Where to?” Sherlock dropped the shirt again.

“You’ll see.”

John led them out of the back of the box which had been booked for the week by McLaren. All the drivers tested John’s new gear box, and while Jenson and Sherlock didn’t seem to have had any problems, the new reserve drivers needed to get used to the more powerful car. In the end, John had asked whether he could test his own car, but he was unused to the g-force of a Formula One car and had barely managed seven proper laps. 

Nevertheless, he was elated that he had been able to do it. He had taken care to get his insurance updated after the wedding, allowing him to drive any car McLaren had to offer, and while Lestrade had been disappointed at the prospect of losing Sherlock as a driver for the team after the next season, he had promised to help them both start their venture with both feet on the ground and as much experience as they could get. 

John led Sherlock up the stairs, remembering Mycroft’s men intercepting his way to take him away. For a moment, he stopped to touch his shoulder, the ghost of pain calling out to him, and Sherlock almost walked into him. “Are you alright?” he asked, using the short distance to touch his back and to place a kiss against John’s neck. 

“Fine, sorry.” He continued up the stairs and pushed at the door which led out onto the now empty space where the podium was erected at each Silverstone race. 

“John,” Sherlock started, but John kept walking until he stood right in the middle of the platform, looking out over the track. It was much colder now than it had been down in the box where machines whirred and the heat from the cars was enough to create a summery atmosphere. Up here, the wind still carried some of the winter’s last frost in it, despite the sun that shone from a brilliant blue sky. 

Sherlock stepped closer, close enough to touch, and John melted into his arms. “Remember?” he asked, looking up at Sherlock like he had back then. It was almost quiet, now that none of the cars were on the track – the opposite of the overwhelming noise from the fans and the teams and the speakers, celebrating Sherlock’s incredible rookie win. 

Sherlock licked his lips and John smiled. 

“We need some champagne,” he finally said before he took John’s face between his hands and kissed him deeply. John moaned into the kiss, overwhelmed by the memory, both of how much he had wanted to kiss him and of his much it pained him that he hadn’t been able to, despite all the kisses they had shared since. 

One hand moved from his face to the back of his head, pulling him closer, making sure he wouldn’t pull back. John wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock, fisting at his shirt, holding on for dear life. It took them a while to calm down again and the kiss became gentler and less desperate. 

Sherlock’s hand wandered down John’s back and Sherlock made a surprised noise, as if he had forgotten that John was naked from his waist up. John chuckled and plucked Sherlock’s other hand from his cheek and transferred it to his arse. 

He was rewarded with two hands settling against his arse and squeezing, making him gasp out loud, pushing himself hard against Sherlock. “Oh, hello,” he commented quietly when he could feel his erection pressing against his hip. 

“Don’t pretend I’m the only one,” Sherlock murmured with mock irritation and slipped one hand between their bodies, finding John predictably hard. 

“Where do we go?”

Sherlock kissed him again and wormed his hand into John’s suit and into his fireproof underwear. “What do you mean, where?” he asked and John groaned, closing his eyes. 

“We can’t do this here.”

“Why not?”

“Just … half the team is downstairs. They know we went up here. They might come look … for … ahh, fuck, Sherlock!” John pressed his face against his chest, unable to ignore the pleasure of Sherlock’s hand pulling at him in quick, precise moves. 

“They won’t know what we’re doing,” Sherlock argued and opened his own trousers, taking John’s right hand and pressing it against his erection. “Go on,” he demanded gently. 

John squeezed his eyes closed and pretended for a second that he was not about to go weak in the knees because Sherlock was jerking him off in public – or rather in a place that was so heavily charged with emotion that it was difficult to be sensible at all. 

“Consider it a rewriting of our story,” Sherlock suggested when he didn’t move. Well, he did move his hips to meet Sherlock’s strokes, but he tried not to be obvious about it. 

He looked up at Sherlock. “So we go from not kissing to wanking?”

“It sounded more romantic in my head,” Sherlock admitted and John laughed, breathlessly, against his lips. 

“Please,” Sherlock asked, pushing his own hips forward. “It’s unfair if you have so much of a head start.”

John laughed helplessly and finally gave in, pushing his hand into Sherlock’s trousers while Sherlock obediently bent his knees a little to make the angle more comfortable for John.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” John gasped, trying not to look around to check whether they were actually unobserved. They would be in all kinds of trouble if anyone caught them jerk each other off on the podium platform a few weeks before the start of the season. 

“If you win Silverstone, I’ll refuse to come up here with you,” he grunted, closing his eyes again.

Sherlock simply moaned in response and John could practically feel him make the decision that he would do exactly that and that, probably for old time’s sake, he would talk the team into sending John up there with him.

The thought almost sent John down to his knees and Sherlock wrapped one strong arm around his back to hold him up. “Don’t go anywhere,” he whispered hoarsely and pressed his lips against his temple. The small noises he made every time John flicked his thumb across the head of his cock, a move perfected over the months and always effective, made it difficult for John to hold back on his own. 

Eventually he couldn’t anymore and pressed his face against Sherlock’s chest, moaning into the fabric of his shirt, and finally falling apart with shaking legs and a racing heart. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god,” he whimpered, half delirious and half terrified that his voice might have given them away. 

“Don’t stop, John,” Sherlock demanded quietly but forcefully, not even pulling his hand out of his suit but simply moving it to grab John’s buttock. 

He kissed him, then, deeply and wet. He could feel Sherlock go rigid for a few seconds before he half collapsed against him. John pulled out his wet hand from Sherlock’s trousers and held him with both arms. 

He held him for a long time, still feeling a little wobbly himself but unable to move away. Sherlock finally straightened and removed his hand from his suit. “Sorry about that,” he said quietly while he wiped his hand on John’s chest. 

John laughed and swatted at his hand, stepping away from him. “Well,” he said, looking around, finding, to his infinite relief, that they were still alone. “What now?”

“We pack up and drive home?”

“Shower first?”

“We don’t have that many water bottles,” Sherlock smirked and John laughed. He felt elated and a whole lot more relaxed than he had half an hour ago when he had been confronted with his own physical limitations. The thought of being able to drive home and take a long shower and then curl up on the couch with Sherlock seemed almost too wonderful to be realistic, and yet it was.

“Thank you,” he said and kissed Sherlock. “I didn’t know I needed that.”

Sherlock smiled and took his hand, kissing the ring. “Anytime.”


End file.
